


Honeymoon Period

by Million_Moments



Series: Death in London [2]
Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Development, Gen, London, Love/Hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Million_Moments/pseuds/Million_Moments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did a husband murder his new bride to inherit her riches? If so, that’s one hell of a short honeymoon period. And will Richard and Camille be able to solve the case before they kill each other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am working on this pretty heavily, but I thought I’d post the “teaser” before I finish the rest. To reiterate things will not always be the same as in episodes, because they won’t always translate. The important thing really is the character development – and also coincidently the most fun bit!

 

He’d been checking his watch all morning, occasionally pulling out his phone and comparing the time on the two devices. Camille could see him in his office, clearly impatient for it to be time for _something_ and she had to admit she was curious. It was the third day of her new assignment, she’d spent the first two away on decidedly dull courses intended to educate her on how things were done at The Met. However, at least on those courses she’d been away from _him_. Camille had hoped he might be a little calmer on her return, but judging by his behaviour today he was as tense as ever. He seemed to make a decision, leapt to his feet and walked through the bullpen without making eye contact with anyone. Camille decided since she didn’t have any _real_ detective work to do at the moment, perhaps she’d go find out what her new boss was up to.

Unfortunately the mystery was rapidly solved when he went down the corridor and knocked on the Superintendent’s door. It would seem he was impatiently awaiting a meeting with her. Perhaps he was hoping to get rid of Camille after all, well good luck to him because at this point she’d probably jump at the chance. Oh well perhaps she’d stick her head inside the door of the Case Progression Unit and see Juliet, she had a question about Impact Nominal Index anyway – namely, what the hell is the Impact Nominal Index?

 

* * *

 

 

“Selina, you have to be winding me up, just let one of the other detectives look after her.”

The use of her first name made it very clear to Selina that Richard was attempting to get a favour from her based on their past experiences together, as opposed to asking his superior officer. This amused her slightly, as if Richard had any _professional_ reason for not wanting to be partnered to Camille Bordey than he would be approaching this the official way.

“Ok, you saved me a lot of hassle back when we were constables Richard, and yes you did even manage to save my life once, so I do owe you one. However I am not letting you call in that favour for something as, well, _trivial_ as this.”

“It is _not_ trivial,” he snapped, a little disrespectfully for Selina’s liking. She gave him the raised eyebrow she’d perfected long ago, and he shifted and muttered an apology. “What I mean, Ma’am, is that I believe there will be frequent, um, intense clashes between us due to differences in…investigative style that the rest of the team may find, well, distracting.”

He’d phrased that almost tactfully, which was a relief for her as Richard’s blunt nature meant she was rather afraid he might not be suited to running a CID unit. “Look, the two of you will probably have a period of…I don’t know, like the opposite of a honeymoon period. You’ll fight all the time, but then eventually you’ll get to know each other’s rhythms and you’ll settle down and work well as a team.” He didn’t reply to that, just gave her a look that clearly indicated his disbelief.

“It isn’t going to happen Richard. Go on, Juliet is about to go on her break,” she said dismissing him. She got quite a bit of satisfaction from the look of surprise on his face at her last comment, he really didn’t understand the extent of her abilities to keep tabs on her staff.

“Yes, ma’am,” he made to leave, then paused and turned. “Ma’am, I realise Juliet couldn’t stay in CID because of her being my niece, but the Case Progression Unit does seem a little below her abilities.”

“Uh,” Nightingale didn’t think she’d hesitated in giving a reply since her probationary days. “Well actually Richard, Juliet came to that decision with the HR department.”

“She _chose_ to go to the CPU?” Nightingale could understand his disbelief, it was not the life most officers would pick.

“She might be your niece but I can’t discuss personnel meetings with you, come on you know better.”

“Right, Ma’am.”

 

* * *

 

 

Camille chatted amicably to Juliet about various databases for about ten minutes. She thought the young officer probably appreciated the interruption. She was sure Juliet must have had a reason to transfer to Case Progression Unit, and that was her business, but Camille still wished Juliet had something a little more entertaining to do. She left when Juliet said she had to go on break which she was spending in the basement canteen. Camille wasn’t exactly due one and even if she was talking to Juliet probably counted. Maybe she’d go see if Eric had anything to do or if Arthur needed help with his reports. Just as she was thinking about him Arthur came bounding down the stairs happily, heading off in the direction of the Canteen as well. Camille should have known really. Arthur was so intent on getting to his destination he breezed right past her.

Before climbing back up to CID something caught her eye - she saw the Chief Inspector in the lobby glancing over his shoulder and heading out of the station. He looked nervous, like he was worried somebody was going to catch him, and curiosity got the better of her so she decided to follow. He turned off towards the park, winding through the crowds. Camille briefly got waylaid at the entrance to the tube when it spat out a bunch of commuters. This kept happening to her, she didn’t understand how she could make her way through the central market in Honore with ease –even when various vendors were calling her name and procuring their goods directly under her nose. Perhaps that was it though – in the market on Saint Marie people were actually _acknowledging_ your presence. In London, when people came out of the tube, they seemed all seemed to concentrating on staring at their phones, iPods or if they lacked either device the pavement, perhaps trying to grab a copy of one of those free newspapers, all whilst very intently avoiding any sort of eye contact. She couldn’t understand it.

She caught up with her superior inside the park itself, buying a cup of tea from a café. He took a table outside, despite the unseasonably cold weather, and Camille was a little confused as to why he’d look so guilty about _tea_. Now the tea in the station was fine (not that she had really developed a taste for the stuff yet), nobody complained about it the way they did the coffee. But hey, if he was extra fussy over tea, who cared – though it could provide an opportunity for a little teasing. Then Camille saw him get a packet out of his coat pocket and knew exactly why he was here.

As she slid into the seat opposite him she said, “Well isn’t this nice, and must be lovely in the summer but a bit chilly now!” She waved over a member of staff. “Just bring me the biggest, strongest, foamiest coffee you have please!”

“What are you doing _here_?” He was pretty pissed.

“You’ve been looking at your watch all afternoon, so when you left I followed you!”

“That’s very underhand!” He protested.

“Well excuse me, Sir, but I’m not the one who snuck out of work in the middle of the afternoon! Why have you anyway?” She indicated the pack of cigarette. “I thought most people just use that smoking shelter round the back of the station.”

“Well I came here so I could enjoy my cigarette _in peace_.”

“Hey, you think I’m happy about being here? The way I see it we’re stuck with each other, so we might as well start getting used to it!” She glared at him, but he met her look with one of equal insolence. Her coffee arrived and she smiled at it happily. “You don’t strike me as a smoker, anyway,” She said, trying to get a conversation going. Surely they’d have some sort of common ground they could, well not bond over exactly…just provide a safe topic to talk about.

“I’m not really. Started as part of a trust gaining exercise when I was undercover and got addicted to the bloody things. I’m down to one a day, which you are currently ruining by the way,” he complained.

She thought about this for a moment, and then the reason for his being _here_ to smoke suddenly became clear, “You were waiting for Juliet to go on her break! You have to walk past the Case Progression Unit to leave the station! Are you afraid of your _petite_ niece catching you lighting up, Chief Inspector?”

“She’d kill me, and I imagine you wouldn’t lift a finger to try and solve _that_ particular murder,” The Chief Inspector grumbled, and she smirked in return. “The only time I can get out safely is when she goes to the canteen for her break and I know she won’t spot me.”

Camille stirred her coffee, which was practically bucket sized, “You know at least the coffee here is decent, I thought I might be a bit spoiled by the wonderful home grown stuff we have on Saint Marie but it appears the British can make a decent cappuccino.”

“Well the British had coffee plantations in Sri Lanka, but they were wiped out by an epidemic of _Hemileia vastatrix_ so tea was planted instead, thus the British have a history of drinking coffee as well.” Camille wasn’t quite sure what he’d just said, and her face must have shown her confusion because he continued, “ _Hemileia vastatrix,_ coffee rust – it’s a disease.”

“Right,” she said, not bothering to pretend to have found that little fact interesting. “Well your colonial history may mean you know how to make good coffee, but you know what you are missing – good rum.”

“There’s plenty of rum in London,” he protested, sounding quite put out.

“Yes, but not _rhum agricole_ , which is by far the best kind of rum,” she countered teasingly.

“I don’t believe anything French in origin could possibly be the best. You know maybe you just aren’t looking hard enough, you could try a little farther afield than Richmond. I hear that Nottingham has a large Caribbean population, maybe you should transfer there.”

“Your grumpy today, you should have that cigarette it might improve your mood,” Camille knew she was being cheeky, but she thought it might be the only way she could cope with working with this man.

He glared at her, “I am _not_ grumpy.” Strangely, he made no move to light up.

“Are you going to have that cigarette or not? You have to get back before Juliet’s break is over!”

He shifted a little, “Well you don’t smoke so it’s a bit rude, isn’t it? Passive smoking and everything.”

Camille couldn’t believe her ears, suggesting she transfer to a city she’d vaguely heard of – and assumed was far away from London – that wasn’t rude. Nor was apparently insulting the French when she was in fact half-French and he knew it. But lighting up in front of somebody who doesn’t smoke, that he considered rude?

She was about to tell him that she had no intention of ever joining him again, so being exposed to one cigarette was unlikely to kill her, when a gun shot rang out from the direction of the woodland. Camille almost leapt to her feet to run towards it, but the Chief Inspector just shook his head at her. “Its deer culling season, that was a shot gun for sure – not the usual firearm we get in murders around here. Unless you’re some bleeding heart liberal who considers trying to control the deer population murder.”

Then the screaming started – and this Camille did run towards it.  


	2. Chapter 2

When Camille reached the edge of the woodland, she found it was actually cordoned off by yellow rope and very large signs informing members of the public not to enter due to deer culling. However the screaming appeared to be coming from beyond these barriers, so she ignored them completely and rushed towards the sound of the voice. She found an older woman, smartly dressed and apparently unharmed, to be the source of the screams. When Camille followed the woman’s horrified gaze, she saw the distinctive form of a bride lying motionless on the woodland floor. She moved forward to try to help, soon realised the bride had been shot. She would have attempted life saving measures, but when she fell the woman had also quite clearly broken her neck – and Camille knew there was no coming back from that.

A crowd of people were running towards the screaming woman, and Camille knew she had to act quickly to prevent the entire scene being compromised. She dug out her ID and threw her hands out to stop them approaching any further.

“Metropolitan Police, stand back!”

“That’s _my wife_! Oh God, Anabelle!” One of the men looked about ready to collapse, he was grabbed by somebody in an identical suit.

The Chief Inspector finally caught up, he took one look at the dead woman and came to the same conclusion she had and ordered her to get the wedding party out of here. As she led them away, having to practically carry the sobbing woman with the aid of a man she thought was her husband, she heard him on his on his radio asking for a SOCO team and uniforms to help secure the area.

Camille got the family into a nearby hotel where the wedding had evidently just taken place. A very efficient woman who must work for the hotel set them up in a small conferencing facility, ordering members of staff to get drinks and other things the family might require. Camille was soon relieved by a young Detective Constable whose name she couldn’t remember but who told her he would be the Family Liaison Officer. Another thing they didn’t have Saint Marie, but if it meant Camille could get back to the crime scene and catch up then she wasn’t complaining.

 

* * *

 

 

On the way back to the scene Camille noticed a small white piece of fabric caught on a bramble. She approached it carefully, avoiding the other tracts, and at first glance it did seem to have come off the dress the victim was wearing. She pulled out the gloves she was warrant to carry in her bag and went to retrieve the lace.

Before she could an irate voice shouted at her, “Sergeant, what are you doing?”

Camille rose to face her superior, “This appears to have come off the victim’s dress, Sir. This must be the route she took to the area where she was killed, I was just going to bag it.”

“Well I can’t fault your observational skills Sergeant, but we have SOCO officers for that sort of thing. You point it out to them for further processing,” He told her brusquely. “She’s been shot with a hunting rifle for sure, it was left a little way away from the scene.”

“You think it might be an accident then?” Camille queried. It would make sense, shooting a bride on her wedding day did seem a rather flamboyant murder scenario.

“It could be _manslaughter_ , yes,” He replied, stressing the term as if she might not be familiar with it. She glared at him but it didn’t seem to have any affect. “Take me to the family!”

He marched off after that order, Camille threw another dirty look at his back which she had to drop rapidly when he turned around and snapped, “Come on!”

 

* * *

 

 

As they entered the lobby of The Petersham hotel, the member of staff who had stepped in to help the family approached them looking intent.

“Tamara Bedford, I’m the events manager for The Petersham and was managing the wedding celebrations today,” She held out a hand but before either of them could shake it turned suddenly and collared a member of waiting staff carrying jugs through the lobby. “Anthony! How many times, we handle the glass wear with gloves on _at all times_. This is not the sort of establishment where you expect to find grubby finger marks on the wineglasses!”

“I’m sorry Miss Bedford, I’m not sure where mine are,” the mildly terrified waiter replied. The Bedford woman responded by chucking a set of cotton gloves at him from her bag, which hit the poor boy in the face.

“I’m having them pack up the dining room, I simply couldn’t stand the idea of the family walking past later and seeing it all laid out for a reception that is never going to happen,” She told them emphatically. Camille was amazed by the woman’s quick changes in demeanour, she had begun polite and efficient, transformed almost instantaneously to a cold hearted perfectionist and was now the epitome of sympathy.

She walked them towards the boardroom, and they could see the family through the glass door, “Just the immediate family are in here. Mr and Mrs Hunter, the parents of the bride, that couple in the corner there. The woman in the bridesmaid dress is Louisa York, she was Maid of Honour and poor Mrs Holroyd’s sister. The two gentlemen are the groom, Tom Holroyd and best man, Ryan Kingston.”

“Hmm,” The chief inspector said, leaving Camille to thank the woman.

“Wait, Miss Bedford, the ceremony took place at The Petersham?” he asked.

“Yes, in the River Room, really very beautiful and wonderful views,” Camille thought Ms Bedford was probably wasting her time if she was hoping for a booking from that man.

“Why…” She started, intending to ask how the wedding party came to be in the park, but that damn man just spoke over her.

“What brought the wedding party into the park itself then?”

“Why for the photographs, Miss Hunter, uh, Mrs Holyroyd, um, well Annabelle loved Richmond Park. I believe she was really quite active in the voluntary conservation group – I’ve been once or twice. I overheard her talking about her upcoming wedding and had to interrupt to offer up my services and The Petersham as a venue!” Ms Bedford looked away suddenly, as if she felt responsible somehow.

Camille wondered just how involved the victim could have been, surely they’d have known to stay out of that area of the woods, “How sure...”

Another question went unfinished, as the Chief Inspector interrupted her again, “Who runs the conservation group?”

“I think his name is Ricardo Cafa, his title is wildlife officer or something similar,” Ms Bedford provided helpfully. “He’s lovely,” She added, and given that she directed this statement at Camille she assumed Ms Bedford was not just talking about his personality. “His bird walks attract _all_ the young women.”

Richard turned to Camille and told her decisively, “Well if she was that into conservation she would have known to keep out of a culling zone.”

“Would you excuse us one moment, Tamara?” Camille told the young woman sweetly. She clicked her fingers and pointed at the empty meeting room nearby.

 

* * *

 

 

Richard wasn’t sure he liked the way she clicked her fingers, pointed, and expected him to follow. However he was under orders to look after her (and presumably keep her reasonably happy) and he didn’t fancy a dressing down from Nightingale. Once the door shut behind them, she turned around and her face was the picture of fury. He knew psychology wasn’t his strong point, but she was hardly difficult to read at this moment.

“I am a Detective Sergeant in The Metropolitan Police Service. I graduated top of my year, I have three commendations for bravery, I have been shot twice and I could almost certainly beat you in a fist fight,” she hissed. He didn’t really have a reply, but was vaguely aware he probably looked a bit stupid right now.

She began to jab him rather painfully in the chest, “Whereas you, you are a _rude man_. You are ignorant, full of your own self-importance, expecting everyone to follow you around and hang on your every word. From now on, you treat me with a little more respect or I’ll be forced to forget I’m a police officer, Okay?”

Richard was one hundred percent certain he would rather be reprimanded by the Commissioner of The Metropolitan Police himself than face the wrath of this woman again. Christ, she’d made him feel like a delinquent schoolboy. The only response he could come up with in the immediate aftermath of her little speech was to nod mutely, but she seemed satisfied with that.  She made to leave, and in a desperate attempt to prove he had actually listed, he fumbled to get to the door before her and opened it with a polite, “After you.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. Not a friendly smile, more one of victory. Richard knew in that moment he was screwed.

“Perhaps we could speak with the family now,” he said, then glanced sideways and added. “If, that’s, uh, okay.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Camille replied. He utterly refused to let out a sigh of relief.

 

* * *

 

 

Every set of eyes was on them as they walked through the door, but there was no hope there – they knew that their daughter, sister, wife was dead. Instead the expressions were a mixture of confusion, sadness and anger.

“I’m Detective Chief Inspector Richard Poole and this is Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey, our team is going to be investigating Anabelle Holroyd’s death. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

A phone went off, belonging to the best man. Clearly realising how inappropriate answering it would be, he fished it out of his pocked and cancelled the incoming call.

“I’m Jonathan Hunter this is my wife Courtney. Was my daughter’s…” his voice broke, he swallowed, and then continued. “Was Anabelle’s death an accident? That area, it was off bounds to the public wasn’t it?”

“That is something the investigation will be aiming to determine. It’s important to have an idea of everybody’s whereabouts during an investigation like this, could you all tell me where you were?”

Jonathan Hunter looked to his wife, clearly too overwhelmed to speak for the moment, and Courtney took over telling the story, “We’d been in the park for photographs. Anabelle and Tom wanted to have shots taken of a few specific groups of guests, you know old university friends, the girls where Anabelle works. The guests were all spread out though, some had gone back to the hotel because of the chill, and my husband and I were trying to round up the relevant people.”

“But your daughter wasn’t?” Camille asked.

“She’s not her daughter,” a sullen voice said behind her. Camille turned and found it belonged to the Maid of Honour, Louisa. “I am though.”

Camille looked back to the parents for an explanation, and Mr Hunter spoke, “My first wife died when Anabelle was quite young, when I met Courtney she already had Louisa.”

“I see.”

“Why are you asking these questions?” Louisa suddenly protested. “We were all running around, trying to gather up the stupid guests for stupid pointless photographs! I went back to the hotel to find people, so did Tom and Ryan and that stupidly helpful organising woman!”

The phone started to ring again, and the best man Ryan shot everyone an apologetic look and he tried to find it in the pocket of his waistcoat.

“Oh just answer the damn thing!” Louisa shouted. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this, I can’t answer these questions right now!” She ran tearfully from the room, followed shortly by the DC who had been assigned as family liaison officer.

“Louisa is right,” The groom, Tom, spoke for the first time. “Ryan, me and her were trying to find guests at the hotel. Anabelle’s parents were looking for them amongst those still in the park.”

“Ok, well, we have one more question for now though there may be more later. I understand Anabelle regularly volunteered for conservation work here at the park?” The Chief Inspector asked.

“Oh nearly every weekend,” the Father confirmed. “She seemed friendly with the Chief Wildlife Officer. Ricardo something, Italian name I think.”

 

* * *

 

 

If you were dressed properly, it was a lovely day actually. Leaves were just starting to turn on the trees, autumn was one of his favourite times of year. On the steps of the hotel he noticed Camille attempting not to shiver, and he in turn tried not to look smug. Clearly when she had decided to stalk him from the station to the park, it had not occurred to her to grab a coat first. He briefly considered offering her his coat, but then decided though polite might very well give the wrong impression to some of the younger officers.

“Are we going to go talk to this Ricardo then?” She asked now.

“Definitely, but let’s go back to the scene first. I set DC Carter the task of finding out who was in charge of the deer cull and finding out more about it.”

They walked at a brisk pace, and soon came to the edge of the crime scene. Whilst they had been gone a white tent had been erected over the body, and the woods seemed flooded with individuals in white disposable suits. Eric came over, holding a bundle in his hands. “Guv!” He greeted him briefly, before turning to the woman by his side.

“Camille, were you so bored you decided to go sniff us out a nice murder? Didn’t even stop to get your coat, you’ll catch your death of cold!” Eric smiled at her, passed her the bundle that turned out to be Camille’s coat. She smiled gratefully at him, interesting, so Camille did seem to be bonding with the rest of the team then, was he the only one who realised how difficult she was?

“We’re looking for Arthur?” Camille asked Eric.

“He’s just asking that SOCO a question,” Eric said, pointing the young DC out.

“They do have names, Eric,” Richard chided him. It was pretty much the same SOCO team for Richmond at every scene.

“Yeah but you can’t tell who they are with the hoods and masks on!” Camille protested. Richard suspected Camille was observant enough that, given a little time, she would be able to tell the SOCO officers apart as well. Her protest was just an attempt to defend Eric.  

“That’s Mason,” he told them, and they looked at him in amazement.

“You’ve only been here three days and you know the SOCO officer names, Sir?”

“He was at the GBH scene yesterday,” Richard explained. “About half of the lot here were.”

“But how can you _tell_ it’s Mason?” Eric asked, genuinely interested. Camille was trying not to smile, and he let out a little sigh of frustration.

“His height, posture, eyes. It’s not so very different as recognising somebody from behind you know!” Eric was an experienced enough officer to tell he was winding Richard up, so backed down. Richard decided to give him something to do, in case he spent the rest of the afternoon playing ‘guess the SOCO officer’. “Eric can you organise the officers questioning the guests, I’m interested in if any of them were filming or taking additional photographs. You never know what they might have caught.”

“Yes Sir,” Eric waved to Arthur as he moved off, who had just spotted them and was jogging over. He looked quite excited.

“Sir, Camille,” He greeted them, slightly out of breath. “I don’t think it was an accident!”

He paused, probably waiting for them to gasp in amazement. Camille had a patient sort of look on her face, but Richard wasn’t able to temper his annoyance at the unqualified statement, so bit out “And why would that be, Detective Constable?”

“Oh, right, well first of all the deer culling always takes place in the evening. In fact the warnings should have been taken down yesterday, as they are moving the site of the deer cull tonight to one of the other woodlands. There was no reason to keep members of the public out anymore,” Arthur clarified, he was about to plow on, but Richard was interested in what he’d said.

“Why weren’t they taken down then?”

“I, uh, don’t know, Sir.”

“Maybe they were just tired, or forgot,” Camille supplied.

“Seems a bit off to me. Anyway, carry on Arthur.”

“Well, Sir, even if one of the wildlife officers did decided to do a bit of daylight shooting, well, you see that – uh - chair in a tree?”

“It’s a tree stand, Arthur,” Richard said with a sigh.  

“Well, deer are shot from those, and I spoke to, um, _that_ SOCO officer,” Arthur pointed out Mason, and he heard Camille coughing beside him to cover up a giggle. “The angle wasn’t right, she was shot from ground level, Sir.”

“That’s good, thank you Arthur. Do you know who was in charge of the cull?”

Arthur flicked through his notebook, “Ricardo Cafa. I had uniforms hunt him down.” Arthur paused, wincing a little at his choice of words. “He’s in a staff area about a mile that way.”

 

* * *

 

 

To save time they climbed into the back of a police jeep which dropped them off. They found Ricardo Cafa around the back of the staff building. He had a knife and some sort of soft wood that he was carving into…well Camille wasn’t sure what he was trying to create. One glance at the man’s face and she surmised that Ms Bedford was right, he really was _lovely_.

“Ricardo Cafa?” Richard enquired, and the man nodded, but continued his careful carving. “We’d like to ask you some questions about a shooting that took place earlier this afternoon. I understand you are in charge of deer control in the park?”

“That’s correct,” He had a nice voice to go with the pretty face. “Several wildlife officers are trained to use the firearms, but I manage them.”

“Where do you keep the firearms?”

Ricardo led them over to a secure weapons store, he unlocked it and showed them inside. Several shot guns were missing from their places.

“Where are these?” The Chief Inspector indicated the empty spaces.

“Several guns were sent for servicing with a private company, I’m not sure how many - it was arranged by another member of staff. I’ll have to have a hunt through the paperwork and see – I assume you’re wondering if one is missing?” It seemed a little unusual to Camille that he wasn’t terribly concerned by the idea.

Camille gave him one of her more winning smiles, “It would be really useful if we could know as soon as possible.”

“Well none of my staff were over there shooting, if that is what you are thinking. We always do the culling in the evening.” Ricardo returned to what he had been carving, which to Camille looked like a piece of wood with a channel dug out of the middle of it. He grabbed a rounded stick and began push it down the shaft repeatedly, creating a pile of wood shavings. Oh well, each to their own. He carried on the action as they continued to question him.

“The woman who died, her name is Anabelle Holroyd,” Camille began. “Did you know her?”

“Though she was Anabelle Hunter,” the Chief Inspector added. She wanted to glare at him for interrupting, but actually he was correct to mention her maiden name and Camille should have done it herself.

“Name seems familiar, she might have been on a walk or two. I speak to quite a few of the conservation volunteers, I’m afraid names aren’t really my strong point. I can check the records for her name though as well,” As Ricardo finished his statement, the small pile of wood shavings he had created began to smoulder. He bent forward and blew on it gently, and a small flame appeared. He provided this with a little kindling for fuel.

“That was very cool,” Camille told him, and she didn’t actually have to pretend to be impressed.

Ricardo looked at her properly for the first time, gave her the sort of smile that probably had most women who received it swooning, “Why thank you, though I don’t just do carving for the sake of fire craft.” He stood and opened a shed, revealing tens of carved deer and other woodland creatures. Camille picked up a squirrel and eyed it admiringly.

“Did you carve _all_ of these?” She asked.

She might not be able to see it, but she was definitely aware that her boss was glaring at her. She ignored it, keeping her attention on Ricardo.

“Do you like them?” He asked, finally responding to the attention she was paying him.

“Very much.”

“Well, thank you for your help Mr Cafa. If you could provide the station with that information as soon as possible,” Richard sound loudly, with no attempt to hide his annoyance. “Please don’t leave the area, it is very likely we will need to talk to you again. Camille?”

She didn’t turn to follow him straight away. Instead she grabbed a pen from her handbag and her card, writing her personal mobile on the back. She handed it over to Ricardo with the sort of intent look that indicated he should definitely not just use it for police matters.

“Camille!” This time it was a lot more annoyed, so with one last smile she turned and followed her boss back to the jeep.

 

* * *

 

 

Richard couldn’t believe her behaviour. For Christ’s sake, they were interviewing the man as part of a _murder investigation_ , not as potential husband material. For all she knew he could very well be involved! What the hell did she think she was playing at? As they sat in the back of the jeep, being taken back to Richmond station, he couldn’t help throwing the odd look at her. She must have gotten frustrated with him, because eventually she just snapped, “What is it?”

Well, now he felt awkward, but he couldn’t really let that sort of behaviour go, “The way you acted back there with Bear Grylls…”

The reference seemed lost on her, but she clearly knew what he was talking about, “Yes?”

“Well you can’t just go picking up men you’re supposed to be interviewing!” He whispered angrily, worried the driver would overhear and he’d give her a reputation.

“Oh will you just relax,” she replied in an equally annoyed whisper. “Just trust me.”

It seemed like an odd request, given the circumstances, but he was still recovering from the dressing down she’d given him earlier and was unwilling to risk another one so soon. So Richard Poole decided he’d follow her orders again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said to katedf, it’s hard writing Richard being a bit of an ass – which he was in the beginning. Especially when you know how much he improves!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Key differences (apart from the obvious ones) between the two universes are explained in this chapter. We also get a new character! I thought it was time for a little character development.

Back at the station, it was time for a team briefing. The case had been given the moniker Operation Bamboo. Camille felt giving every murder investigation its own operating title was still excessive. People were hardly going to get the case about a bride getting shot on her wedding day muddled up with another murder because it didn’t have an operational name. Perhaps The Met did it because it made them feel more important.

Including representatives of SOCO (now thankfully out of their suits) there were about 25 officers in the room. Camille was under the impression five of these were CID’s night shift– they’d be assigned tasks to work on but also be around in case there was another case overnight. Camille felt uncomfortable that she still hadn’t learnt everybody’s name.

“Right!” The Chief Inspector said, standing in front of the room. Camille felt a little smug that a whiteboard had appeared from somewhere. “Anabelle Holroyd nee Hunter was 22 years old. She was shot in what one might assume to be an accident, if it weren’t for the fact that no members of the wildlife team were meant to be culling at that time of day and the angle she was shot at suggests it was made at ground level, rather than from the tree stands. Therefore we need to investigate motives for why somebody would want this woman dead.”

“Who would kill a bride on their wedding day?” Eric asked disbelievingly.

“Is that not what I just said we needed to establish?” The Chief Inspector snapped, clearly exasperated. “Does anybody have any more useful comments?”

The room remained silent, other officers probably a bit wary of getting shouted at themselves, “Oh fine, it’s still me then. OK, do we have details of Anabelle’s financial situation?”

“Oh!” piped up a young female DC, clearly pleased to be able to contribute. Camille was ninety percent sure her name was Heather. “Several of the guests mentioned that Anabelle had been left a very substantial trust fund by her mother, which she was due to inherit at 25 or on her wedding day.”

“Now that is worth investigating,” he replied, writing the word ‘inheritance’ on the white board. “Anything else?”

“I have a witness who said they saw Mrs Holroyd talking to a member of the park staff near where she would have entered the wood. Said she borrowed the woman’s phone. I asked about, and it seems likely it was Casey Black, a horticulturalist, who was supposed to be doing some work in that area. However she had gone home for the day, but will be back in tomorrow,” Provided another officer.

“Okay, good, interviewing that woman is a top priority” Phone call joined the word inheritance. “I want to know who Anabelle called. Mason, have SOCO got anything to add?”

Camille hadn’t failed to notice how Mason had looked very much like he was trying to hide at the back of the room. When DCI Poole called on him, he shifted uncomfortably, cleared his throat, and nervously said, “Well, good news and bad news, Guv.”

“Right.” When Mason didn’t continue immediately, the Chief Inspector lost patience, “Spit it out, Mason!”

“We’ve found evidence that the shot gun had been hidden at the scene, under some brambles,” Mason informed his boss.

“Well that implies pre-meditation, and confirms the fact it wasn’t an accident. But then how would somebody know that Mrs Holroyd would enter the wood?” he replied thoughtfully. “And why was it still cordoned off?”

Arthur raised a hand politely, though more experienced officers shot him looks of derision, “Sir, after you said that at the scene I asked around. It wasn’t the first time the cordon had been left up all day when it should have been taken down. Apparently the manager of the park got accosted by a member of the public who complained. She claimed that staff had deliberately left it up so they could meet, uh, privately.”

An older DS snorted with laughter, “Well I suppose a bit of dogging in Richmond Park is just another British cultural experience for the tourists.” Most of the team laughed at that, and Camille made a mental note to look up dogging later, though from the context she could make a guess at the meaning. The British had a dark sense of humour that was for certain. A woman had died and they were making jokes (presumably) about sex in public places.

Richard hadn’t joined in the laughter, she suspected it was too crass for his tastes. Arthur, poor boy, was blushing.

“Do you have a name of the complainant?” He asked Arthur now.

“No, but he said he recognised her, seen her about the park before.”

Richard looked disappointed, but then turned back to Mason, “What else do you have?”

Mason had relaxed when Arthur had started speaking, clearly thinking the pressure was off.  He looked outright dismayed that the Chief Inspector’s attention had returned to him. “We got some lovely lifts off of the shot gun, Sir. But, well, uh, the Police National Computer is down.” This last part was said very quickly, as if Mason hoped Richard wouldn’t notice and move on.

“Did you just say the Police National Computer is _down?_ ”

“Yes Sir, complete blackout. They are hoping to have it online for tomorrow lunchtime but there is no way to compare the prints on the weapon to those from the database or upload the exclusion prints we collected from family and park staff members. We’d normally run them overnight to get a match so we’re probably looking at very late tomorrow or the day after for the results.”

“How can it be _down_?” He asked unbelievingly.

“I…I don’t really do IT, Guv.”

Richard threw his hands in the air in frustration and let out a breath, “Fine, fine, that’s just the way it’ll have to be. Ok, it’s getting late. Amelia and Kevin, you have the delightful task this evening of going through the photographs and video taken by guests around the time of the killing. Owen, there is a detail keeping an eye on Ricardo Cafa, check in with them every now and then. Everyone else, go home.”

Camille went to collect her things from her desk. Arthur had sat back down at his computer terminal, clearly not done working for the evening.

“Are you not heading home, Arthur?”

“We didn’t _always_ have the Police National Computer,” was his rather disjointed response.

“Right,” said Camille, that boy was a bit of a dreamer sometimes. “Good Night Arthur.”

She met her boss on the stairs, ended up walking out with him, “Hey, I was thinking, you know sometimes the single women at weddings can get pretty vicious. Maybe one of them killed her to steal the bouquet.”

“I don’t know that seems a bit extreme, doesn’t it?” He replied.

She raised both eyebrows and gave him a disbelieving look, “Uh, you don’t really do banter do you?”

They paused outside the car park. She’d heard the Chief Inspector had complained so much about his commute the Superintendent had given him access to a pool car.

“Can I give you a lift?” He asked, though Camille got the feeling that he was just being polite.

“No, no thank you. I only live down the road, fifteen minute walk – ten if I cut through the park.”

He looked like he was about to insist, Camille still didn’t really understand how he could switch between the extremes of rudeness and politeness so easily, but before he did her phone rang. She answered, and was pleased when she realised who it was. Chatting briefly she confirmed details, then hung up and gave a triumphant smile, “Do you know where The Orange Tree is? It’s on Kew Road.”

“Well I know where Kew Road is.”

“Excellent, can I drive?” She asked, taking the keys from his hand so swiftly he didn’t really have time to register it. “I need to practise driving on the left some more!”

“Uh…what’s going on?” The confusion on his face was almost comical.

“I have a date!"

 

* * *

 

 

Camille smiled at the wildlife officer as she approached him in the busy bar, “So, you enjoy attention from women then? Perhaps Anabelle Holroyd also gave you some attention, perhaps she was looking for you in the woods this afternoon?”

“So is that the only reason you gave me your card? Wanted to see if I was some kind of womaniser?” he raised an eyebrow, and gave her a mock disappointed look. “I might be a bit of a flirt, but it’s just a sales technique. Those carvings make me a nice little bundle on the side – money I like to spend on my girlfriend.”

“So why did you call?”

“I called because I thought the good officers of The Metropolitan Police might appreciate the information they requested of me. I checked, three firearms were missing from the safe, but only two were sent for a service. It also seems the victim was a regular member of the conservation group, I didn’t recognise the name because I always called her Annie. Not sure why she never corrected me.” He seemed pretty genuine to Camille. As for why Anabelle never corrected Ricardo, well Camille would probably let a man that handsome call her anything he wanted.

 

* * *

 

 

Richard felt like an idiot, sitting in the passenger seat of his own car. It didn’t help that one of the detail assigned to watch Cafa was in her car across the street, squinting through the darkness probably trying to figure out if that was her Guvnor sitting in the car the new DS had just exited. Camille had said she wouldn’t be long, told him to wait in the car. It seemed like she had been right to reassure him to just trust her. Everything they had learnt about Ricardo Cafa that afternoon indicated he got a lot of attention from the fairer sex, and he supposed this was one way to establish if Ricardo liked to follow up on it. She was returning now, and he shifted, wondering just how far she would have taken the flirting to check her facts. She slid back into the driver’s seat, and Richard immediately regretted not taking it back when she was in the bar.

“So, uh, that’s what you were doing earlier was it? Using your feminine, um, charms to um…” He wasn’t really sure how to finish the question.

“Do you think it was a real date I would leave you sitting in the car?”

Richard decided to go with the truth, “Well, truth be told, a woman’s mind is a complete mystery to me. Learn anything interesting?”

“The shot gun did come from the park’s supply, and he admits to knowing Anabelle – said he didn’t recognise the name because he always called her Annie,” she told him, pulling on her seatbelt.

“Could be a clever lie, not sure we should count him out yet,” He said thoughtfully.

“Hmmm, I believe him. He also claims to have a girlfriend.”

“So, home?” He asked hopefully.

“No way! I need a drink. Do you know anywhere?” She asked brightly. Was she seriously suggesting they go out for a drink together? Well, that just showed how accurate his earlier statement about not understanding women was.

“Only in Croydon, you’d be better off asking Arthur or Eric.”

“Well let’s go to Croydon! More driving practise!”

“It’s a forty minute drive,” he said disbelievingly.

“I don’t mind, come on! I can take the tube, or bus or over-ground or one of the other one hundred public transport links London has back.”

Well, he supposed at least he was heading in the direction of home. He gave her the directions.

 

* * *

 

 

They pulled up opposite a building that, if Camille had been asked to describe an English pub, pretty much met her expectations. It was called The White Hart, painted the same colour as deer it was apparently named after, name in brass lettering on the gable end and front of the building.

“This your, how do they say, ‘local’?” She asked curiously.

“You could say that,” he sounded a bit grumpy, she had talked quite a lot on the drive over and got the impression he didn’t appreciate it. “And before you ask, they do have rum.”

“I doubt very much they have good rum,” Camille said. “But since you offered to buy me one I won’t turn it down.”

“I didn’t actually,” she heard him grumble under his breath as they crossed the road. She chose to ignore it.

The blast of warmth as she walked in the door was _heavenly_. The almost cliché English pub theme continued inside, with a long wooden bar being propped up by various older man, and a fire blazing away in one corner. The landlady was an older woman, probably just a little older than her own mother, and was seemingly lending a sympathetic ear to one of the aforementioned older gentlemen. However when she spotted Richard walking in, she apologised to the man and came over beaming happily. Well, it appeared there was one place the Chief Inspector was popular.

“Richard darling, hello!” Camille felt sure she hadn’t heard correctly, she could not imagine the Chief Inspector would be the sort of man who would allow anyone to call him ‘darling’. Perhaps he would prove to be one of those men who were dramatically different away from the office. “Do you want the usual?”

“Yes, thank you,” He replied, reserved as ever. “And some rum, lime and ice for Camille.”

“I’m not sure I can take the disappointment of another bad rum,” Camille said on a sigh. The land lady turned and raised an eyebrow at her.

“You’re after some _rhum agricole?”_ she asked, surprising Camille. “I have this bottle of _Marie-Galante_ rum I’d be willing to open for you.”

Camille was still a little shocked, so just nodded happily, and the landlady responded with a kind smile. Soon she returned with a pint of something for her boss and Camille’s rum cocktail, which she sipped with increasing pleasure.

“Oh my God this is _so_ what I needed. I think I might actually feel properly warm for the first time since I got here.”

“I told you we have rum in London,” he replied, looking a little pleased with himself.

“Yes, and you realise that now I know where to get it, I’ll be here _all the time.”_ His face fell at that, and the landlady who had been watching Camille enjoy her drink with satisfaction, chuckled.

“I’m glad to hear it, my dear, I’m always telling Richard to bring his colleagues here,” she said in a friendly tone.

“And I told you that I prefer to be able to enjoy my beer in peace,” Richard’s tone was a little grumpy, he must be quite a good customer for the woman behind the bar to put up with it.

“Why do you have _rhum agricole?_ ” Camille asked the woman, partly out of curiosity, partly because she suspected she would be better conversation that her boss – who was still looking sulky.

“Oh Richard’s father is in the diplomatic service, he’s supposed to be retired now but he’s always off somewhere helping out the service still. Anyway we did quite a lot of travelling in the early years of our marriage and I got a taste for it during a tour of the Lesser Antilles.”

Camille had not missed the key fact in that statement, and turned to her boss, “Hang on, is this your mother?”

He sighed, “Yes, Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey, this is Justine Poole.”

“It’s so nice to meet you Mrs Poole,” Camille said excitedly. “Do you know what’s weird, _my mother_ runs a bar on Saint Marie! Isn’t that a coincidence?”

The Chief Inspector didn’t seem very impressed by the fact, but Mrs Poole was at least polite, “Well, yes, very interesting. And please, you can call me Justine.” Camille heard the door open behind her, and Justine smiled at whoever was entering. “You’ve probably met my granddaughter, Juliet? She lives with me and my husband, well when she’s not off with her young man.”

Juliet leaned across the bar to kiss her grandmother on the cheek, smiled a greeting at Camille and herself.

“Do you want a drink, Juliet?” Richard offered.

“Orange Juice and Lemonade please.”

Justine went to fetch the juice from the fridge, “Juliet you hardly ever have a proper drink anymore, you aren’t worried about drinking in front of your uncle because he’s a senior police officer in your station are you? Because I won’t let him lecture you!”

“Uh, well, actually I have a good reason not to drink,” Juliet began a little awkwardly. Camille could sense a rather personal announcement was about to be made, and wondered if she should excuse herself and go to the ladies’ room or something. However Juliet shot her a look that implied she could use a little moral support, so Camille gave her an encouraging smile and stayed put on the bar stool.

“You see, um, Grandma, Uncle Richard, I, uh, am having a baby,” She managed to get out eventually.

This pronouncement was met with silence, and Juliet seemed to visibly flinch. Camille wanted to dive in and say something, but thought she’d give Justine and Richard a little more time to get used to the idea.

“Oh Dear Lord, I’m going to be a Great Grandmother!” Justine said in a rush, and Camille was relieved to realise the tears in the older woman’s eyes were ones of joy. “This is wonderful! Oh Juliet!”

They hugged over the counter, and when Juliet moved back Camille gave her a brief hug as well, “Congratulations Juliet, I’m really happy for you and Arthur.”

Richard, who seemed to have gone into a shocked paralysis at Juliet’s announcement, was shaken from his revere by Camille’s statement.

“Arthur?” he questioned. “Detective Sergeant Arthur Carter? What is he got to do with it?”

“Oh,” was all Camille managed, shooting Juliet an apologetic look. The young constable just mouthed the words ‘it’s ok’ at her, before turning resolutely to her uncle.

“Arthur is my boyfriend, Uncle Richard. He’s the father, so he had quite a lot to do with it.”

“Arthur Carter got you pregnant?” Richard asked again, well a good detective did double check these things.

“Well that’s not how I would phrase it, but yes, we are expecting a child.”

He then rounded on Camille, tone accusatory, “ _You_ knew they were together?”

“They didn’t tell me. I thought it was quite obvious,” Camille held up her hands in a placating manner.

“Was it?” He asked, incredulous. Psychology was _so_ not his strong suit. Camille was willing to bet ninety percent of the Detectives in CID knew, they were after all _detectives_. But this apparently brilliant detective had failed to notice, and they were talking about his niece!

“Is he going to marry you?” He asked Juliet, perfectly seriously. Camille gave him a disbelieving look, but he shot her a look back that clearly indicated this wasn’t her business, and he did have a point there. To her surprise, it was actually Justine who stepped in to chide her son.

“Richard, for goodness sake, this isn’t the 1940’s. As many children are born outside of marriages as there are born to those who are married these days. Stop being so grumpy and old.”

Thus told, Richard looked at the floor and murmured a congratulations to his niece. Camille got the impression thought that Arthur may have a difficult few months ahead of him, perhaps he’d end up transferring to the Case Progression Unit. God knows there had been times putting up this man today that it seemed quite appealing to Camille as well.

“I know you’re just looking out for me,” Juliet was saying quietly to her uncle. “And I do appreciate that.”  And Camille supposed Juliet was right, it was sweet in an ignorant sort of way.

Juliet excused herself, heading upstairs presumably where she lived, and Camille clapped her boss on the back and said merrily, “You’re going to be a Great-Uncle!”

Richard groaned, “Oh God that makes me feel so old.”

“Come on, I’ll buy you another beer to celebrate. You should have something as well Justine,” Camille continued, determined to be cheerful regardless.

“Is Juliet your brother or sister’s child?” She asked, whilst Justine poured the pint.

“My brother’s,” said Richard, still looking a little miserable about the whole situation.

“Oh right, does your other son not live nearby then?” Camille asked Justine conversationally. The response was not was she expected, as the woman suddenly looked about ten years older and so very, very sad.

“I, uh, my son – Juliet’s father, he’s dead,” She managed to tell Camille.

“I’m so sorry,” Camille said in a rush. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Oh you didn’t know, dear, its fine really. I probably wouldn’t even get this way, if it weren’t for the baby,” at this point the tears overwhelmed her, and she disappeared into a room behind the bar. Well, this evening was not going as planned. Camille couldn’t believe she’d said something so dumb and upset the poor woman.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” she told her boss. She didn’t try and catch his eye, felt he was already uncomfortable enough.

“Oh it was a long time ago, no need to suddenly start being nice because you feel sorry for me, and don’t go spitting it out to the whole station either I don’t want any sympathy,” amazingly, he still sounded grumpy, but didn’t they say everyone coped differently? “I mean we didn’t even grow up together, really, I was at boarding school and he was with my parents.”

“Why did only you go to boarding school?”

“I had a scholarship,” he was still addressing his beer, instead of her.

“What happened?” She asked gently.

“Thomas was in the army, signed up the day he left school. He was posted to Northern Ireland, early nineties The Troubles were still in full swing. He’s out on patrol one day and somebody starts shooting from a window. Luck was on their side, not Tom’s. He had his vest on, his helmet, but they hit his neck and despite his colleagues best efforts he didn’t made it,” He paused, stared at his beer some more, and then continued. “He had a girlfriend, Juliet’s mother Jayne, she was a nurse with the army. She was pregnant, a bit of an accident, and when Tom died she got scared I guess. Went back to her Mum and Dad in Nottingham. Gave Juliet his last name though. We only found out Juliet existed a few years ago, Mum was overjoyed, and Dad a bit more uneasy but he’s come round.”

“And how did you take it?” Her latest question seemed to startle him, and he suddenly realised exactly how much he was sharing with her. Camille thought she could visibly see him pulling back.

“Look, I don’t know how it works on that island of yours, but round here just because you work with somebody doesn’t mean you’re entitled to know their entire family history,” he snapped.

“Yes, Sir,” she replied, but she didn’t apologise for asking. She had been surprised at how much he shared, had the feeling he’d said more than he meant simply because nobody had ever actually asked before.

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur still hadn’t left the station, he was trying to think up a way he could identify the woman who’d made the complaint about cordon being left up. Eric was also still there, not working though, instead trying very, very hard to distract DI Amelia Crewe from her assigned task. His mobile rang, and he smiled happily when he saw it was Juliet.

“Hello! Did you tell your Grandma?” He asked excitedly, he was looking forward to perhaps being able to stay at Juliet’s occasionally, instead of her always sneaking round to his.

“Yes, she’s overjoyed. Um, Arthur, Uncle Richard was here as well. He knows too.” Juliet sounded apologetic, and Arthur – though now frantic with nerves – knew that little revelation was inevitable.

He gulped, then asked, “How did he take it?”

“Well, it could have gone better,” Juliet said diplomatically. “Arthur, he’s far too professional to make your life, um, _very_ hard. But maybe _try_ to be on your best behaviour for a bit?”

“I’ve been on my best behaviour since he got here!” Arthur protested. “I wish I’d had more time to impress him before he found out.”

“It’ll be fine,” Juliet tried to sooth him. “But I wouldn’t come over tonight, at least not until he heads home.”

As soon as Arthur was off the phone with her, he proceeded to bang his head against his desk. This managed to attract Eric’s attention.

“Did the Guv find out about you and Juliet?” He guessed. Arthur nodded, too despondent to come up with more of a reply.

“Oh I’m sure he’ll be fine with it! You’re a respectful young man, Arthur, an excellent choice for our Juliet,” Eric attempted to comfort Arthur.

“Yeah, I don’t think ‘respectable young man’ is the first thing that’ll come to mind when he thinks of me in the future. Eric, um, Juliet is pregnant.”

Eric didn’t respond immediately, instead he just blinked rapidly and looked horrified.

“I’m happy about it,” Arthur prompted his senior officer.

“Right, yes, of course congratulations Arthur!” Eric slapped him on the back and shook his hand, a much more appropriate response. “Now don’t you worry about the Chief, You’re a smart young man, I’m sure you’ll think of someway of impressing him so that he forgets all about you impregnating his niece,” Eric didn’t sound particularly confident about any part of that statement. “Though don’t be surprised if I chose to be far away when the Chief Inspector arrives tomorrow. Good luck, Arthur.”

And with that, Eric was off and out of the door – waving a cheery goodbye to Amelia. Arthur decided he better head off as well, opened his bottom desk draw to retrieve his jacket. When he removed it, something caught his eye, and he had an idea.

Maybe there _was_ a way he could impress the Chief Inspector. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am no longer sure how many chapters this will have! Maybe another two.

When Camille made it into work the next morning, surprisingly early given she’d been out late the night before, the first thing she noticed as she put her bag down was Arthur. The DC was slumped over his desk, breathing deeply, clearly fast asleep.  Eric appeared from the tea room, and she shot him a questioning look, but he just indicated she should remain quiet for the moment. Gingerly, he slid a piece of paper out from under Arthur’s outstretched hand. The young man snorted and shifted slightly, but remained sleeping. Camille read the report quickly, eyebrows raising in surprise. Poor kid must have been up all night, it certainly showed dedication.

She and Eric spent the next forty minutes convincing the other officers who turned up to work to remain as quiet as they could manage. The two of them knew once a certain team leader arrived, there was no way Arthur would be allowed to remain sleeping peacefully.

 

* * *

 

 

Richard had spent his drive to Richmond, a large amount of which didn’t involve driving at all, but sitting entirely still in traffic, thinking up ways to torture Detective Constable Arthur Carter. Well, perhaps _torture_ was a strong word, he certainly had no plans to make the officer’s life comfortable. Most of his ideas were rather half-hearted – when it came down to it he did not want to attract the wrath of Juliet or his Mother by doing anything overtly evil. Also he should probably avoid angering Camille any further, observations seemed to indicate she was rather fond of Arthur as well.

When he entered the main bullpen, and realised that Carter was actually sleeping at his desk, _on duty_ , Richard was quite frankly thrilled. There was no way anyone could hold it against him if he gave the boy a dressing down, outwardly it would just be about the sleeping thing but he was sure he could drop a couple of hints about how he better treat his niece in the future. As he made to march over there, much to his chagrin he was intercepted by that bloody Bordey woman. Did she think she could prevent the inevitable?

“Morning Sir,” She said brightly, though quietly. “DS Crewe has stayed on until your arrival, she has something from video footage being shot by a guest at the wedding.”

“Yes, yes,” he said dismissively, attempting to step around her but then Eric appeared, holding out a cup of coffee to him.

“Here you are, Sir. Spoken to Amelia yet?”

“I think I should probably speak to DC Carter first, don’t you?” He replied irritably, but did take the coffee.

“It’s just he’s sleeping, Sir,” Camille told him, like he was just supposed to accept it.

“I can see that, Detective Sergeant, but he is supposed to be ON DUTY,” This last part was said deliberately loudly, and did succeed in waking Arthur. “What’s your excuse then?”

Camille stepped in to start explaining, whilst Arthur rubbed the sleep from his eyes, “Well you see Sir when Arthur realised that we could end up having no fingerprint results for an extra 48 hours, he took it upon himself to do the fingerprint matching himself. He went and collected all the paper copies of the prints, and compared them to those retrieved by SOCO from the weapon.”

“But, the network is down, how did you manage it? Don’t tell me you helped him?” This last question was shot at Eric.

“Not me, Guv, this is all Arthur’s work.”

“So how did you match the prints without a livescan or the database functioning?” He asked, incredulous.

Arthur held up the magnifying glass he had found in desk as he was about to leave. “You counted ridges, Arthur that’s fantastic, I didn’t even know they still taught that at Hendon.”

Arthur stretched, and replied, still sounding a little rough, “Well I got a little but lucky, Sir, the prints on the weapon all came from somebody with arch type prints.”

“Which only comprises of 5% of the population,” Richard said, recalling the obscure fact from forensic classes.

“There were only two sets of elimination prints collected that were arch prints, so I only had to compare those to the ones on the weapon.”

Arthur didn’t seem to think it was necessary to say who the prints matched, which was a shame for him because Richard rapidly switched from being impressed back to being annoyed, “Whose are they, Arthur?”

“Oh right, Cafa Sir, Ricardo Cafa.”

 

* * *

 

 

As Camille dragged him off to go talk to DS Crewe, he suspected to prevent him from finding a reason to have a go at Arthur, she asked him, “So what do you think?”

“Well I’m sure you realise it isn’t evidence that he did it, he reported one of the guns was missing last night, killer might have worn gloves and Cafa’s prints were just left over from the last time he used the thing for culling purposes.”

“Or maybe somebody used that gun on purpose, trying to make him look like he was the killer,” Camille suggested.

“Well it’s an interesting possibility, but why would somebody want to frame him for Anabelle’s murder? According to you he seemed barely able to remember Annabelle from the hundreds of other women who apparently flirt with him on a daily basis.”

“You should have knocked off by now, Detective Sergeant,” Richard told Amelia as they approached.

“Yes, Guv, I just thought it might be easier to point this out myself.” She clicked on a video file, and then directed their attention to the far left of the image. “I believe this guest had travelled all the way from South Africa for the wedding. He was taking a video of his family for people back home, what he caught in the background was incidental.” She indicated the main wedding party, gathering for a photograph. “We don’t have an exact time for when Anabelle Holroyd departed from the main group, but we know it was between ten to and the hour. This was taken at quarter to the hour.”

In the background, if you squinted, Anabelle Holroyd could be observed to stand up on her tip toes, to be able to whisper something to the best man, Ryan Kingston. There was no denying it was suspicious.

“Well spotted Amelia,” Camille complimented. Richard wasn’t so convinced.

“So she says something to the best man, doesn’t really mean anything.”

“Oh please, look at her body language,” Camille protested at his disbelief. “The way she does it quickly whilst everyone else is looking elsewhere. She doesn’t want people to realise what is happening. And this was _just before_ she goes off looking for a secluded place – she is _so_ arranging to meet him.”

“Thank you, Amelia, it is definitely worth investigating,” he told her honestly. “Go home and get some rest.”

As their fellow detective signed off the computer, Camille turned to him and asked expectantly, “So what are you and I doing today?”

He tried not to sigh in frustration when he heard her say “you and I”, he wondered how long he was going to have the… _pleasure_ … of this particular Detective Sergeant’s company. Perhaps when this case was over he would casually mention to the Detective Superintendent how well Camille worked with…anyone who wasn’t him, but Eric or Arthur for example. Maybe Selina would be in a good mood and agree that Camille had ‘settled in’ enough to no longer need his personal supervision. A man could dream, couldn’t he?

She was still waiting for an answer, eyebrow raised, “Well I figured we’d go talk to the family about the whole inheritance thing. Family liaison officer rang this morning, they are continuing to stay on at the hotel for the moment. I’ve instructed him to inform the family this is a full blown murder investigation now, and to expect us. Since your keen to know what Annabelle and Ryan were chatting about, perhaps we’ll ask whilst we are there.”

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur located Eric making another cup of tea. He was very good at hiding in the kitchenette, was Eric Goodlife.

“Eric, I checked HOLMES2, we’ve been assigned the task of interviewing Casey Black – see if she is the mystery woman the victim was seen talking to outside of the woodland where she died,” Arthur told him.

“Excellent, it’ll be a walk in the park!” Eric paused to chuckle at his own joke. “Coffee at the café there is about fifty times better than the stuff they serve downstairs,” Eric replied brightly. “I’ll get my coat.”

“Eric,” Arthur called, stopped his training officer in his tracks. “Um, why did you tell DCI Poole that it was just me who did the fingerprint work? You helped as well.”

“Well, Arthur, what you need to learn is that once your superiors _know_ that you are willing to help, they will start _expecting_ you to help. Next time a livescan breaks I don’t want him looking to me for help!” Eric explained, and that pretty much did fit in with the officer’s personality. “Besides, let’s face it, since you knocked up his niece you need all the help impressing him you can get.”

 

* * *

 

 

Camille didn’t like admitting how impressive the police databases were in the UK. Saint Marie was still in the process of _talking_ about digitising everything. If you wanted to know who had a gun licence in Saint Marie you had to hunt through a red, leather bound ledger, which was ordered not by name but by date. Many entries had been scribbled out – normally because the licence holder was now deceased – or names written in cramped writing over the top when a licence was ‘transferred’ to a new owner. Technically not legal but what happened anyway. People got a license by coming in and asking for one, normally with one of the officers at the station able to vouch for them being a generally law abiding citizen.

It would seem in the UK, the process was a little less relaxed. Firearm and shotgun applications required medical certificates, criminal records checks, details of where the weapon would be stored and what it would be used for, passport photographs, references from upstanding members of the community and quite often after all of that the police would come along and interview you anyway. Then you didn’t just get the license for life, it had to be regularly renewed.

Whilst she waited for her boss to check in with some of the other officers in the team, Camille had been perusing the results of the firearms license check performed by another officer. They had queried the system to see if anybody vaguely related to the case owned a shotgun. Naturally Mr Cafa’s name came up on the list, along with a couple of the other park staff. Camille was surprised by one name though. She printed off the relevant file.

“Look at this,” When the Chief Inspector came to pick her up from her desk, she waved the piece of paper in front of his face. He grabbed it, somewhat annoyed, and scanned it quickly.

“So?” He said, putting it down on desk again and making to leave, clearly expecting her to follow. She was forced to get up and do just that.

“What do you mean, so? Tamara Bedford had a shotgun licence!” She didn’t bother to keep the annoyance out of her tone.

“In Oxfordshire, yes.”

“And you don’t think that is relevant to the case, a murder case where the victim was killed using a shot gun?” She was glad they were on the stairs now, so there were fewer witnesses in case she snapped and decided to strangle him on the spot.

He came to a stop, turned to face her on the landing. His tone, when he replied, was surprisingly patient, “Camille, her name is _Tamara_. She is from rural Oxfordshire. To put it simply, she is posh. In this green and pleasant land, posh people go shooting of a weekend, normally birds rather than people. So no, I am not surprised that a woman of Tamara Bedford’s background used to hold a shotgun license.”

He then promptly turned and began to descend the stairs again, which Camille was grateful for as it saved her some embarrassment. She thought the subject was dropped, but then he asked as they were getting in the vehicle, “What possible motive could she have for killing Anabelle, anyway? Hardly going to be good for business if one of her brides gets murdered.”

“Are you kidding?” Camille asked, smiling. “Do you know what women are like? They’ll be queuing up to view The Petersham as a venue, in the hopes of getting a little inside gossip on the murder, glimpse a member of the victim’s family, maybe even discover a clue that solves the murder!” She said dramatically. “In fact maybe _that_ is potential motive, trying to increase business!”

Richard huffed, shook his head and told her, “That is _ridiculous_. No bride is going to go through the façade of viewing the place as a potential wedding venue just out of morbid curiosity.”

Yup, he definitely didn’t do banter.

 

* * *

 

 

Camille believed the English phrase was “speak of the devil”. As they approached the hotel entrance, Tamara Bedford was showing a couple out. They were loaded down with catalogues.

“Ms Bedford,” The Chief Inspector said by way of greeting. “How are you?”

“Rushed off my feet, rather. I’ve been inundated by requests from couple wishing to view The Petersham as a potential wedding venue,” She informed them with a sigh. She then added, in a conspiratorial whisper, “I would like to think they saw it on the news and thought it looked like a lovely place for a wedding, but I think most of them are here out of morbid curiosity.”

“Oh, aren’t people just macabre sometimes?” Camille commented sympathetically. She got the feeling Richard was deliberately _not_ looking at her, and she was forced to suppress a smile.

“Yes, but you never know, I might be able to get a few of them to sign up!” Tamara said in a bright, hopeful manner. Then her face fell, “Not that I’m trying to take advantage of the poor girl’s death for business purposes, of course.”

“The thought never crossed our minds, Ms Bedford,” Richard said firmly. “If you’ll excuse us.”

In the lift Camille nudged him playfully and looked at him expectantly.

“Just because members of the public are being there normal grossly inappropriate selves does not mean Tamara Bedford killed Anabelle Holroyd,” He bit out in frustration.

“Yes, but I believe you dismissed the idea of those couples turning up as ‘ridiculous’” Camille pushed. “When in fact, I was right.”

She thought if she’d had more time to stare him down, he might have actually acknowledged it. Fortunately for him, lift doors opened, and he got a reprieve.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lot harder to write than “An Ocean Apart” was. I think I’ve learnt my lesson. For future “episodes”, I’ll write the entire story before I publish.

Eric and Arthur located Casey Black lovingly lifting bulbs from the ground, inspecting each one carefully and then putting them into one of two piles. To Eric, the bulbs all looked identical. Arthur belonged to the school of putting interviewees at ease before asking the tough stuff, it was a skill Eric had taught him – though the two approached the matter in very different ways. Eric liked the flirt with the ladies and have a little joke with the blokes. Arthur liked to ask intelligent questions in a manner that implied he was genuinely interested. Whilst Eric stood back and took a moment to admire (as subtly as possible) the lithe, dark haired, though a little grubby, beauty before him - Arthur engaged her in conversation.

“Checking for eelworm damage?” He asked, surprising Eric with his apparent gardening knowledge. He also appeared to surprise Ms Black, who looked up quickly before smiling delightedly.

“Don’t meet many police officers who know about horticulture,” She said as she stood, brushing dirt off her hands but smearing it over her work trousers. Eric still thought she was gorgeous though. “Mind I don’t meet many police officers in general.”

Arthur gave her a congenial smile, “So I’m guessing I was right?”

“Pretty much,” she conceded. “Nematode damage, yes, but not the normal species of eelworm. We had an outbreak 3 years ago and had to leave this bed as bare fallow to try and starve them out basically. We put bulbs in again this season; I want to make sure they are all ok. These few have a bit of damage, probably not even eelworm, but I want to be careful.”

“Were you doing this yesterday as well?” Arthur continued, in what he probably thought was an effortless segue into the real reason they were here.

“No, yesterday I was putting in the some winter shrubs on the other side of the park. Yes, near the woods where that bride was killed and yes, I spoke to her beforehand.” Eric and Arthur shot her a questioning look, and Casey just shrugged, “Word got through to me of what had happened, wasn’t hard to surmise you’d want to talk to me. I heard you were coming otherwise I would have stopped by the station myself.”

“Do you know what time it was when you spoke to her,” Eric asked, notepad open and pen poised.

Another shrug, “I’m afraid I’m rather renowned for losing track of time. I can only tell you it was after lunch but before my afternoon break.”

“That’s ok,” he reassured her quickly. “So, what did you discuss?”

“Oh I’ve seen her around a few times, quite active in some of our conservation groups. I spotted her about to enter a cordoned off area of the woods and tried to stop her, but she knew we wouldn’t be shooting in there at that time of day, said she’d only be in there for ten minutes at the most.”

“If there was no shooting going on, why were the barriers left up?” Arthur asked, and when Eric saw Casey’s reaction he was impressed with Arthur for thinking of doing so. They already had one potential answer - though largely the station had dismissed the liaison theory as fanciful, and that it was more likely to be a mistake.

When Casey was asked though, Eric thought he detected a change in her demeanour, she didn’t look at either of them directly when she gave her answer, “Oh well, the rangers doing the shoot at the end of a long day, and it isn’t anybody’s favourite job. They must have just left them up as a mistake, probably just wanted to go home.”

Arthur then followed up with the more obvious question, “So why would Annabelle Holroyd want to go into the woods?”

“Well, I assume she was meeting somebody, especially since she asked to borrow my phone. Well, I could hardly say no to a bride on her wedding day, could I?”

Arthur didn’t make a direct reply, just motioned for Ms Black to continue, “She rang somebody but they didn’t pick up, but I’m pretty sure she left a message. My mother raised me not to eavesdrop, so I was making a concerted effort not to listen to what she was saying.” She smiled, looking apologetic that her manners meant she couldn’t be more helpful. “Then she gave me back my phone and went off into the woods.”

“We’re going to have to take your phone for a little while, Ma’am,” Eric told her, retrieving an evidence bag and holding it open. Casey looked reluctant, but also somewhat resigned. Eric imagined that like most of her generation, she was a little over dependent on the device.

 

* * *

 

 

Camille would have preferred a moment with her boss to discuss how they should approach the interviews. Apparently she still had a bit of training to do with this man, as he swept into the suite where the victim’s father and step mother were without acknowledging her attempt to get his attention.

“Mr and Mrs Hunter, I’m sorry to have to disturb you during this difficult time, but I believe the family liaison officer has now explained that this is now a murder enquiry,” He began, tone on the whole respectful.

Jonathan Hunter was pale and withdrawn, clearly not in a suitable state for further questioning, he barely acknowledged their presence. For this reason it was his wife who replied, she may externally have acted like she thought of Annabelle as her own daughter, but it was obvious her grief was not as strong as her husband’s.

“Yes, but I mean, that must be a mistake? Who could possibly want to kill Annabelle? What reason would they have?”

“Well that is what we are hoping our questions today might help us establish. It is my understanding that Annabelle was to inherit a large trust fund, set up by her late mother, on the day of her wedding?” From this, Camille was able to conclude that Richard Poole belonged to the school of ‘straight to the point’ interview technique. It didn’t surprise her really, there was a time when Camille had actually preferred to go at a thing sideways, and try to catch people off guard. She soon lost patience with the method though, and learnt to trust her instincts. She knew when people were hiding something, and she wasn’t afraid to call them out on it. Noticing the slightly uneasy look that had appeared on Mrs Hunter’s face at the mention of the trust fund, Camille had to wonder if she wouldn’t be shortly doing just that.

To her surprise, Jonathan Hunter actually gave a great sigh and answered the query, “Yes, that is correct. We’ve looked after the fund for her up until this point, but it was to come under her control when she turned 25 or on her wedding day – whichever came first.”

Camille heard the door to the suite open, and turned to see Tom Holroyd standing there. He did not seem surprised to see him, perhaps having been clued in by the family liaison officer of their imminent arrival. Before he could speak, Courtney rushed in to fill the silence that had occurred at his arrival.

“Tom, darling, the police are here to ask some more questions about Annabelle’s death. However if you don’t feel up to it, I am sure they could come back later.” Oh yes, she was trying to hide something.

“No, it’s fine,” His voice sounded stronger than he looked. “I want to help find out what happened.”

“Well perhaps you could tell us then, now that your wife is dead do you inherit her fortune?” Well, that was a little blunter than Camille would have put it, but it was certainly interesting to watch people’s reactions to the question. Mrs Hunter looked furious at the implications of the question, Mr Hunter had gone back to staring at the floor and as for the widower – well he looked more than a little defiant.

“No, No I don’t.” Camille could see that answer had thrown her fellow detective, and Tom Holroyd must have sensed it as well. He sighed, and indicated that they should follow him. Richard and Camille did so, with Courtney and Jonathan Hunter trailing close behind.

“Annabelle’s money was always a bit of an issue, in fact we were even arguing about it the night before the wedding. I wanted to prove I was marrying her for her, and so I signed this – a pre-nuptial agreement.” Tom explained all this as they walked down the hall, presumably to his own suite. “If Annabelle died, if I left her, even if she left me for another man – I got nothing. And since I did love her, and not her money, I was happy to sign it – though Annabelle didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Well then whose idea was the agreement?” Camille asked, even though she thought she knew the answer. Tom didn’t actually reply, just shot a look at his in-laws.

As he unlocked the door, Courtney Hunter rushed to explain further, “You have to understand, before he met Annabelle Tom did have, well, a bit of a reputation. It is only natural that we would want to protect Annabelle, so we merely suggested...”

“We didn’t just _suggest_ Courtney, we had our lawyers draw up the contract,” Jonathan interrupted, looking really quite guilty.

Tom passed the pre-nuptial agreement to Richard, who only gave it a cursory glance before handing the document to Camille, who decided to examine it a little more closely.

“So if Mr Holroyd is not the recipient of Annabelle’s fortune than who is?” He continued in the same blunt questioning style.

Once again, Tom’s gaze landed on his in-laws. Courtney gave an almost imperceptible shrug before saying, “It’s what Annabelle would have wanted.”

Camille very much doubted that, in fact she had the proof it wasn’t true right there in front of her, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Mrs Hunter, Annabelle hasn’t signed this document.”

Jonathan looked up sharply, Tom’s face creased in confusion and Courtney cried out, “What? Impossible! We watched her sign it.” She moved as if she intended to grab the document, but Camille shifted slightly to discourage her from doing so.

“In the signature box she has written ‘I’m not signing this, when will you get it, I love you, until death do us part’”

There was something _almost_ comical at the furious look on Courtney’s face as Camille finished reading out the dead woman’s words. This time she did succeed in snatching the document from Camille’s hands, eyes scanning it quickly and recognising the fact that what Camille had said was true.

“You!” She cried out, pointing dramatically at Tom. “You did this! You manipulated her, I knew we shouldn’t have trusted you, a man who will sleep with any woman who has a pulse!”

“Courtney!” Her husband said firmly, trying to gain control of the situation. “That is enough. What is done is done; clearly Annabelle’s wishes were not as we thought.”

Courtney shot one last murderous look at Tom, dropped the pre-nup on the table and swept from the room. Camille exchanged a look with the Chief Inspector, and felt for once they were both on the same page. Tom, meanwhile, remained standing still. He was clearly shocked at the revelation that he would in fact be inheriting his wife’s fortune after all. Either that or he was a _very_ good actor. Jonathan came over and briefly squeezed his shoulder, then turning to address Richard and Camille excused himself. They showed themselves out of the suite, Camille taking the disputed document with her.

“Well I suppose that line of questioning is at an end for now.” Her boss looked put out, he probably further things he wanted to ask about but was sensible enough to know they were unlikely to get coherent answers until people had had time to calm down. “What do you think?” He asked Camille, arms crossed and a sulky look on his face.  

“Well, first off I don’t know why you’re looking so grumpy, this is a major breakthrough,” He shot her a look when she described him as grumpy, and she ploughed on before he could say anything about it. “Courtney Hunter seems pretty accustomed to her lifestyle; no doubt they’ve been spending quite a bit of money on themselves. Perhaps they killed Annabelle in order to hold on to that money, they did after all believe they would be inheriting it.” She paused, then added, “Or there is always the possibility that Tom knew that Annabelle hadn’t signed it – he was in possession of the document.”

“Yes, but then why kill her on her wedding day? Why not wait? And why with a shotgun of all things – and how did they know she’d be in the woods? Speaking of which, do we really believe the reason those barriers were left up?”

“I doubt that has anything to do with the murder,” Camille sighed aggressively. “Maybe they paid somebody to do it?” Before Camille could elaborate on that theory, her phone rang and a quick glance at the screen showed it to be Eric. She held up a hand to bring the Chief Inspector to a halt.

“Hello?”

“Camille, got a little piece of information you might be interested in. Annabelle Holroyd borrowed a phone off a gardener, and according the call log the number she rang belonged to the best man, Ryan Kingston.” That caused Camille to smile in satisfaction, so her little theory about Annabelle sneaking off to meet Ryan in private was not so far-fetched. “She left a message, but we’ll need a warrant before the phone company will actually release the recording.”

The Chief Inspector was waving to get her attention, so she told Eric to hold on for a moment and raised both her eyebrows at him.

“Is that Sergeant Goodlife?” He asked, and she nodded in confirmation. “Ask him if they asked the gardener woman about the culling barriers.”

She just about managed to resist the urge to roll her eyes, “Eric? The Chief Inspector is interested in what your witness had to say about why the culling warnings were left up.”

Eric gave a little chuckle, able to detect her frustration, “Actually, that was pretty interesting, she claimed it was probably just a mistake as we originally thought – but she was a bit evasive. That random complaint about the woods being used for secret liaisons might have more to it than we thought.”

“Thank you Eric, I owe you a drink,” She told him before ringing off.

Her boss was frowning, “If that was about the case, why is he calling you instead of me?” He seemed pretty put out.

“Because I’m nicer,” It was meant to be a bit of a jokey comment, but he seemed to take it quite seriously.

“Am I giving the impression people can’t approach me directly with information?” He questioned, seemingly genuinely concerned. Dear God, he was actually worried about his management style.

“He probably just called me because ‘Camille’ comes before ‘Chief Inspector’ in his list of contacts,” She said dismissively. “Would you like to know what he actually said?”

“Yes!” He said, perking up. “Did she have an explanation for the barriers being left up?”

Camille didn’t bother hiding her sigh, “He said she claimed it was a mistake, but looked like she was hiding something.” Before he could start to crow about the possibility that he was right, she pushed on. “He also gave me some information which means we have a whole new motive to work with. Let’s go ask Mr Kingston some questions, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

 

After enquiring with the family liaison officer, Richard and Camille were pointed in the direction of the hotel gardens. As they stepped out of the hotel, the blast of cold air reminded Camille that she was not in the Caribbean anymore, “My God, this cold, how do you put up with it every year?”

“I dress appropriately.”

This was a reference to the fact that she had, once again, forgotten her coat. Camille thought it was a bit mean, it had been years since she’d lived somewhere where you needed put extra clothes on when you stepped outside, so naturally it would take her some time to get used to having to do so. As for her work clothes, well short sleeved blouses and lightweight trousers were all she had ever needed. There were a lot of things she needed to buy when she got her first pay slip, and jumpers was on the top of the list. Mind, she’d actually rather go cold for another month and buy things to make the apartment a little more bearable to live in.

As they approached the gardens, Camille noticed that Ryan was not sitting alone on the bench - the victim’s step sister, Louisa, was with him. Camille watched with interest as Ryan tried to place a comforting arm around the young woman, but she pushed him off – hurrying away. Ryan rose to follow her, but stopped when he realised that they were approaching.

“Mr Kingston,” The Chief Inspector said by way of greeting. It occurred to Camille that her boss might not have seen the same scene she just had. “We have a few questions we’d like to ask you, if that is okay?”

Surprising her slightly, the Chief Inspector looked to her to take the lead, so she did, “Were you going to meet Annabelle in the woods?”

“What on earth do you mean?” Ryan said disbelievingly. However he also looked really rather nervous.

“We have video footage of Annabelle whispering to you, perhaps trying to arrange a liaison? We’re you to having an affair?” Camille pushed on.

“I don’t know what you are talking about. I don’t remember Annabelle whispering anything to me and I certainly wasn’t have an affair with her,” Ryan denied vehemently. Camille was inclined to believe only the latter part of that statement. She decided to try another tactic to get the answers she wanted.

“Well, perhaps we’ll just show the footage to Mr Holroyd, see what he makes of it,” She said airily, before turning to walk away. The Chief Inspector gave her a shocked look, and hurried after her. She sensed a reprimand coming, cut it off by whispering under her breath, “One…two…three…”

“Wait!” Ryan shouted at their retreating figures, jogging over to catch up with them. “Alright, she was arranging to meet me.”

“For what reason?”

“If you must know, she was going to lend me some money. I have a car business, and I need £50,000 by the end of next week.”

“Or?” Richard prompted.

“Or I won’t have a car business. Annabelle was going to lend me the money. If you ask me she wasn’t doing it as a favour to me, she just wanted to show her step mother who was in control now. She was whispering that she would try and get away, and would let me know where I could meet her. Tom, well, he is my best mate but he didn’t want her to lend me the money either. It is a bit of a risky investment, in fact I think she fought with him about it as well as her parents,” Ryan confessed. He then hurriedly added, “Not that I think any of them would kill her to stop her loaning me the money!”

“She rang you, but you didn’t pick up.” Camille stated.

“Yeah, well, uh, you know various finance people had been calling me all day. I normally always answer the phone but I sensed fellow guests were getting a bit fed up with it. I was up at the hotel trying to round up some guests for photos and I guess I just ignored it on that occasion. She left me a message, told me to go to the woods near where they were taking the photos and she’d hand over the cheque. But before I made it there…well, she was killed.”

“Thank you, Mr Kingston, that will be all for now.”

 

* * *

 

 

Richard thought the latest revelation from Ryan was worth putting to the rest of the family. He wanted to see their reaction to the news that Annabelle had intended to lend 50 grand to a seemingly inept business man. Camille, thankfully, agreed with him. They found Annabelle’s father, step mother and step sister sitting in a quiet corner of the hotel bar.

“What now? Can we not be left alone to grieve?” Mrs Hunter cried.

“We’re sorry, Madam, but we do have more questions about Annabelle,” He had never been particularly good at handling grieving people. He didn’t understand why people couldn’t accept that the questions were necessary. Didn’t they want to find out why their loved one had been killed?

“Annabelle!” Louisa spat with surprising force. “Annabelle was all we ever talked about. Her beauty, her money, and her perfect wedding, a wedding that goes off without a hitch. Now she’s dead, she’ll be all we talk about for the rest of our lives. Now she’s dead she’ll forever be young, and perfect, and married!”

The young woman leapt from the table, rushing past Richard. He was utterly perplexed by the outburst, though Camille didn’t seem nearly as surprised. He concluded she must know something he didn’t, and it irked him that she hadn’t chosen to share it yet. Mrs Hunter rose to follow her daughter, presumably to provide some kind of comfort, leaving just Mr Hunter sitting at the table looking despondent.

“I bet you think we’re a right lot,” he began, as Camille and Richard sat down on the recently vacated seats.

“Scratch the surface and even the most outwardly perfect families have their problems,” he said in an effort to be consoling. Jonathan gave a slight nod in response, so Richard continued with the question he intended to ask, “Did you know that your daughter intended to lend Ryan Kingston £50 000?”

The man’s only reaction was to let out a sigh, “No, I knew Ryan had asked. Courtney and I both advised against it, as did Tom even though he and Ryan are best friends. However you saying it doesn’t surprise me, Annabelle had been rather…defiant in recent weeks. Lending the money to Ryan is just the sort of thing she’d do to show that the money didn’t matter to her.”

“Just now, Louisa, she said that Annabelle’s wedding had gone off without a hitch?” Camille posed it as a question, and Richard tried not to look too surprised. He hadn’t expected her to bring up the woman’s outburst. He was also surprised when that prompt was enough to have Mr Hunter tell them the whole sordid story.

“Yes, a few years ago Louisa was engaged to be married. Courtney suspected he was only after the family money, and I’m afraid I offered the man money to disappear.” He paused, let out a heartfelt sigh. “I expected to do it and have him refuse! Prove to us all that he really did love Louisa!”

“But that isn’t what happened?”

“No, left poor Louisa rather heartbroken, as you can imagine.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was interesting information, but Richard wasn’t sure if it was entirely relevant. Anyway, they had done all the interviews they had planned on and a few they had not – it was time to get back to the station and think it all over.

“Now we have motives we really need to narrow down who had opportunity, see if anybody we think might have been involved actually has an alibi. Simmons and Hassan should hopefully have finished that,” He noticed that Camille was shivering as they walked down the hotel steps. Once again he wondered if he should offer his coat to her, but this time he refrained because he was genuinely afraid she’d interpret it as him being condescending  or sexist or something…negative.

“Detectives!” A voice cried from the hotel entrance. They turned to see Tamara waving, they paused and waited for the woman to meet them at the bottom of the steps. “I’m glad I caught you. Well, I, um, think I might have some information for you. You see, I have quite a lot of contact with the couples who get married here. I settled in Mr and Mrs Holroyd the night before, and as is normal for me stayed overnight at the hotel myself since we start the preparations so early the next day.”

“Did something happen, perhaps? We do know that the couple had a fight the night before Miss Bedford,” Camille explained. “Perhaps you overheard what it was about.”

“Well, I mean, there were some raised voices, yes,” Miss Bedford looked truly uncomfortable. “And, well, I know it seems silly. But I swear I heard the name Ricardo mentioned.” Richard exchanged a quick look with Camille, it was not the answer they expected.

“I mean, I am sure the fight was just cold feet or something, but, well, a woman is dead. I thought you should have all the facts. Now I’m sorry, I have another appointment in five minutes. Just call if you need to talk to me some more.” And with that, Miss Bedford bounded up the steps, meeting a young couple at the top with a warm smile.

“Everyone thought Tom was the player, but perhaps he really was dedicated to Annabelle, and things were actually the other way round,” Camille said thoughtfully. “Her father said Annabelle had become defiant recently. A young woman, about to come into a lot of money and determined to show who was in charge, perhaps an affair was part of that.” They were walking back towards the station now, Camille setting a brisk pace probably in an attempt to keep warm.

“So you think that Tom sees her sneaking off into the woods, thinks it is to meet Ricardo, and goes and kills her? But then once again we’re left with the question of _how_ did he know that she was going to go there? I mean, the weapon was hidden at the scene.”

“Well, a woman complained about, uh, liaisons in the woods. Maybe Tom had heard about that from somewhere?”

“He claimed that argument was about money,” Richard reminded Camille. “And you said Ricardo had a girlfriend.”

“Well both of them have reasons to lie, don’t they?”

They had reached the station. Richard and Camille walked into the bullpen to find the sort of activity that indicates something had clearly just happened.

“Guv!” Eric cried on spotting him. “Uniforms on patrol in the park just called. There’s been another murder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am determined to sneak plant health facts into my stories.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not as clever as the writers of Death in Paradise.

The scene was not as dramatic as Annabelle’s had been – a blood stained wedding dress is hard to top. No, what Camille observed before her was something more mundane - if a murder could ever be mundane – a woman that had been beaten to death in a fit of rage. She had seen it, unfortunately, many times before. The Chief Inspector was outside of the police tape, frowning and fiddling with something in his pocket. Camille realised it was the same time of day Annabelle had been killed – he was probably contemplating sneaking off to try and get that daily cigarette. Well, she wasn’t allowing that.

“This can’t be unrelated,” she said, as she approached him. They watched as SOCO carefully lifted the murder weapon, a moderately sized rock probably intended for landscaping purposes, and put it inside a body bag. The normal evidence bags would probably break under the weight of the thing. “Casey Black was a key witness on the day, perhaps she knew more than she realised and the killer came back to ensure she never got to reveal that information to us.”

“The crime is more chaotic…instead of a carefully hidden weapon the killer just grabbed a rock and hit her repeatedly with it. It can’t be a coincidence but we should be through, make sure we investigate anyone who had a reason to kill Ms Black other than her involvement in the first murder.” A hand rubbed the back of his neck, frustration evident in the motion. “We need to get back to the station though – look at everyone who still doesn’t have an alibi and find out where they were when Ms Black was killed.”

“About those alibis,” She said, tone almost coy. Camille couldn’t help herself really, it felt good to know something he didn’t.

When she didn’t continue, he gave her a pointed look and asked, “What about them?”

A small shrug was her initial answer, and it pleased her a little how she could see his temper starting to flair. In a casual tone she continued, “Well, I believe two possible suspects have an alibi after all…”

He frowned, which caused her to smile. She was going to enjoy this.

 

* * *

 

 

Richard re-read the report of the observation on Ricardo Cafa. Though the man had apparently flirted with every woman he’d been seen with - including DS Bordey - nothing indicated he ever took it further than that. It seemed increasingly likely that he did have a girlfriend. He didn’t know many men who could hold out against that much attention. Though he was confident in his conclusion – one he knew Camille also seemed to agree with – something was nagging him about it and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was.

A separate operation had been opened on the Casey Black murder, until such time there was irrevocable evidence that the two were committed by the same person. The programme had automatically suggested the operational title Marl, but since that was a type of rock he dismissed it in case it was seen as bad taste. The next suggestion was Signet, which he could live with.

Camille knocked on his door, he rather hoped she wasn’t planning on revealing more information he hadn’t realised. It irked him a little that she had spotted something so easily he hadn’t, but reflection had made him inclined to agree with her idea.

“Yes!” he called, and she meandered in. Richard expected her to start talking, but instead she just perched on his desk.

“What is it?”

“Oh!” She said, seemingly surprised she needed to provide a reason for her presence. “I heard the pre-lim forensics report would get sent to you in a minute. I just thought we’d go through it together.”

“Right, yes, sure,” his Outlook remained free of any new emails, and he wondered how to fill the moments until it arrived.

“Did you get any further on your, uh, theory?”

“I thought I’d just go ask them directly in a little while.” Well, that passed 10 seconds. Luckily, a ping informed him he had a new email – and it wasn’t just another one from his Mum asking if he was coming round to have dinner with Juliet, Arthur and her. There was even the possibility of his father returning from the office in time. He’d fobbed her off earlier on the phone with the excuse of having a double murder to solve, but she was still persisting by claiming he would need to eat at some point.

Camille peered over his shoulder, and he discovered her proximity was more than a little distracting. “Blunt force trauma consistent with the rock found at the scene – no surprises there,” she began reading over his shoulder. “Time of death around 15:00. White cotton fibre found on the rock probably from the killer. Oh well white cotton, hardly anything is made of that, narrows it right down.”

Richard didn’t reply immediately, his brain had made a connection between the two cases – one that instantly led to another connection and then finally made him realise why Ricardo Cafa’s apparent innocence had been bothering him.

“The person who made that complaint, was it anonymous or do we have a name?” He asked her. She looked at him, entirely perplexed, and Richard cursed the fact that other people couldn’t make the same leaps of logic as he could. “The complaint about the woods being used for, uh, liaisons.”

“Oh, uh, I think Arthur just found out it was a woman.” She leaned over again, tapping a few keys to bring up the brief report written by Arthur. He held his breath to avoid being entirely overwhelmed by her perfume.

Skimming the report, he stood suddenly (displacing Camille from where she was perched) and opened his office door, barking, “Arthur!” Whilst the Detective Constable made his way over Richard rummaged on his desk to find the correct file. When he looked up Arthur was standing there looking a little apprehensive, “Take this to the park manager. If he’s off duty find him at home, ask him if this is the woman who made the complaint and call me as soon as you have the answer.”

“Yes, Sir.” He went immediately and without question. Richard imagined if he had assigned the same task to Camille he would have had to answer a 100 questions first. In fact, she looked like she was about to start quizzing him now. To cut her off, he next called Eric into his office.

“Eric, can you go get Ricardo Cafa and bring him to the Petersham?” Eric nodded in acknowledgment and followed Arthur in following orders directly. “Camille, you contact the family liaison officer and let him know we’re coming in to talk to everyone. Ask him to find Tamara Bedford and keep her there too.”

“Why?” She asked. Oh yes, he was never going to have gotten away with it…

 

* * *

 

 

They were lucky that both Ricardo Cafa and Tamara Bedford had not actually finished work so were still in the vicinity of the hotel. Mr Cafa had been about to continue the deer cull (away from the murder scene, of course) and Ms Bedford actually had another couple to show around in half an hour (a fact she had told Camille at least 3 times since she arrived.) Ricardo was still on his way, being escorted by Eric, but Camille knew they didn’t need him immediately. The rest of the family were wearing expressions of either impatience or confusion, underlined with grief. Camille was a little uncertain with the way Richard seemed to be planning to make the arrest, but who was she to question the methods of the Metropolitan police. They were just waiting on a phone call from Arthur, but Camille was confident that her boss’s theory would prove correct.

His phone rang then, and Camille didn’t need to hear what Arthur was saying – she could tell by the look of satisfaction that appeared on the Chief Inspector’s face. When he hung up, Courtney finally lost her patience and declared, “Why are we all here?”

“Ah, well, you see,” The Chief Inspector began. “There’s been another murder. Casey Black, a gardener in the park and the last person to actually see Annabelle alive before she was killed. The woman was beaten to death I’m afraid.”

“Surely you aren’t suggesting…” Courtney began indignantly, but was cut off before she could finish her protest.

“First let is return to the murder of Annabelle Holroyd.” Richard said firmly. “Mr Kingston, you wanted to borrow money off Annabelle…”

“Yes, but I didn’t know if she was going to…” The young man’s quick attempt at defending himself was interrupted again by the Chief Inspector, who clearly wanted to make it clear who was in control.  

“Ah but I do. It is clear that Annabelle had every intention of giving you all the money she needed. Tom, here, thought it was a bad idea – and her parents, particularly her step-mother, were also sure to disapprove so she kept the whole thing secret. But now that she was married, finally in control of the money, she wanted to show everyone who was boss – rebel a little if you will. She’d already told you that she would meet you when she could slip away. When she caught site of the cordoned off woods she realised it was somewhere you two could meet undisturbed, and she should take her chance whilst people were off trying to gather up guests. Nobody could recall you being specifically up at the hotel, as you claimed you were, so perhaps you did get that call and went to find Annabelle.”

“No! I never went to meet her!” Ryan said pleadingly, clearly fearing he was being accused of the killing.

“I know. And then the question becomes why you didn’t. You have shown yourself to be really quite attached to your phone, so why wouldn’t you have answered when it could have meant your salvation? But then I remembered it wasn’t you who told me you were back at the hotel, it was Louisa. After she’d done so, she apologised – I thought it was to the room in general but it was just to you, because she had just lied about your whereabouts, and her own. She is another person nobody can actually place back at the hotel at the time of Annabelle’s death.”

Louisa was staring at the floor, guilty and miserable, whilst Tom turned to look at her in shock. Camille decided to step in before the widower possibly came to the wrong conclusion.

“You lied because you were together, weren’t you Louisa? Ryan, I saw you comforting Louisa in the hotel gardens, you are lovers, aren’t you? Ryan wasn’t allowed to tell anyone.”

“But why would you hide that?” Tom asked.

“Because the last time Louisa got involved with anyone, her mother thought they were a gold-digger and money was offered to them to make a disappearance. Imagine what she would think of Louisa being in a relationship with Ryan, a man who has very real money troubles.”

“But if they were together...?” Tom seemed to make the conclusion.

“Yes, then they each have an alibi, and are not suspects. However Tom, you alibi doesn’t seem to clear. You were up at the hotel yes, and did direct guests down, we have that on CCTV. But it seems on the way back to the photo shoot your movements can’t be accounted for. You already admitted you had argued with Annabelle the night before she was killed, you claim it was about money – but perhaps it was about something else?” Richard explained.

“Perhaps you philandering days aren’t as over and done with as you claim? Or maybe it wasn’t you who had strayed, perhaps Annabelle had decided to rebel in more ways than just by giving her money away?” The questions from Camille were designed to provoke a reaction, and a reaction they certainly got.

“No! I swear, ever since I met Annabelle there has been nobody else. I was loyal to her and she was loyal to me, the suggestion either of us would cheat is unthinkable!”

Neither of them got the chance to address Tom’s remonstration, because at the chance Eric arrived with Ricardo Cafa.

“Ah, good, now we are all here, I believe we can properly begin.”

Mr Hunter had reached breaking point as well now, standing suddenly and declaring, “Please, enough of this, just tell me who killed my daughter!”

“Your daughter was killed by the only person here with the means, motive and opportunity.” He replied firmly. “Now, you and your wife, you were in the park trying to gather up guests for the photographs weren’t you?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Jonathan Hunter quickly confirmed.

“But were you?” Richard questions.

“Of course, I mean, yes, you have to believe me! Surely other people would have seen me? Tamara, you were the one who directed me where to go!”

She nodded in confirmation, but Richard didn’t seem satisfied with this, “Yes, but is that enough of an alibi. Tamara you might have escorted the Hunters back to the hotel, but does that mean you are all in the clear? I have to say it was one of the largest wedding parties I have ever seen, could have been very easy to lose somebody in the crowd.” He paused there, let the information sink it. “You know what, I think we’ve been looking at this case the wrong way round. That the only way it’ll make sense is if you start at the ending, and work your way back to the beginning. So Tamara is willing to say yes, she did escort you back to the hotel – fair enough. But where did she go after that?”

Everyone turned to stare at Tamara now, who looked back at them wide eyed. Richard pressed on with his accusation, “It was you, wasn’t it Tamara? You murdered Annabelle and then you killed the gardener Casey Black.”

“I’m sorry?” She said breathlessly, as if she had simply misheard him.

“I mean, it makes sense to assume that Annabelle was the intended target. But I don’t think she was. I certainly think you intended to kill whoever went into those woods that day, and unfortunately for Annabelle she went in before the real person you wanted to kill. You knew why the barriers were left up outside the woodland, knew it wasn’t just a mistake. We went to see the park manager, who confirmed that you had complained people had been using to arrange liaisons. But not just any person – the subject of your infatuation, Ricardo Cafa.”

“That’s ridiculous!” She practically spat in response.

“Is it, though? As we’ve pointed out we can’t be sure of your movements at the time of the murder.” Richard reminded her, and them all. “And something else that is strange. You see, we know that Annabelle and Tom hear did fight the night before the wedding, but about money. Yet you told us you distinctly heard the name of Mr Cafa here, a man that Annabelle knows from her volunteer work with the Royal Parks. Along with the fact that Annabelle was killed with a hunting rifle that Mr Cafa has access to, it threw suspicion very much on him.”

“Then why are you looking at me!”

“Because though Ricardo planned to meet somebody in those woods today, it wasn’t Annabelle – it was his girlfriend. His actual girlfriend, Casey Black, who you killed this afternoon when you discovered your mistake. Casey Black was the reason Ricardo kept turning you down, and ignoring all your attentions. You know if you hadn’t have killed Ms Black, I don’t think we’d have caught you, what reason could you possibly have to kill Annabelle? But you didn’t know the identity of Ricardo’s girlfriend, did you? They had been very discreet, after all. It was probably a bit of a shock to you when Annabelle entered the woods, killing one of your own brides was hardly in your plans, but I imagine all that rage helped you pull the trigger. I don’t know when you managed to steal the gun, probably on one of the trips you were out with the conservation group yourself, but with all that shooting experience back in Oxford you were hardly likely to miss, were you?”

“There are a lot of people in my village shoot! It’s not that uncommon a past time!”

“But do all of them do it whilst wearing white cotton gloves, the sort that you insist that your staff wear when they are handling the glassware? Because that is another connection, at both scenes you wore those gloves, probably to avoid leaving fingerprints – but you left fibres behind.”

“White cotton is not an uncommon fabric,” Tamara pointed out, in the same way Camille had earlier. Honestly, did Richard think if he just laid the evidence out calmly in front of her she’d confess and save them all time in the courts later? She thought she had a much faster route to showing Tamara’s true nature.

“You know, Tamara, I sympathise with you, I really do. I mean, what is _wrong_ with you that men just aren’t interested in you. You pay them all this attention, get all the little details right, but they never seem to want you – well, perhaps not for more than one night anyway.”

“Uh, Camille…” She heard Richard begin, but held up her hand to indicate he should not interrupt.

“But Ricardo told you he had a girlfriend – and I suppose that is fair enough. But he didn’t stop that flirting, did he? Once he rejected you outright he never gave you a second look, but he kept flirting with anybody else in a skirt, didn’t he? You killed Annabelle and Casey to punish him, and tried to throw suspicion on to him.” Tamara was breathing heavily, Camille could tell the woman was near breaking point. “The answer, by the way Tamara, is that men hate obsessive, clingy women like you. My God, I probably got further with him in the 10 minutes I interviewed him than you _ever_ could have.”

Camille’s words finally had the desired effect, as Tamara launched herself across the room, grasping Camille firmly round the neck. As a police officer, she had extensive hand to hand training, but Tamara’s unexpected level of physical strength, fuelled by her rage, took her a little by surprise and she wasn’t able to move out of the way before her hands had locked. She was aware of the men in the room rushing forward to drag the woman off but before they could, Richard came round and kicked Tamara in the back of the knee, causing her to fall to her knees and slacken her grip on her neck. He pulled her arms down and cuffed her expertly.

“Thanks,” she told him, a little horse from the experience. He simply nodded in response.

 

* * *

 

 

He and Camille stood on the steps of the hotel and watched as Tamara was loaded into the back of the police car.

“A double murderer, be a long time before she is arranging another wedding. Or do you allow weddings in jails here?”

Richard wasn’t sure if Camille was joking or not, “Not last time I checked, but I doubt she’ll ever see the inside of a jail cell.” She looked at him, shocked, and he hurried to explain. “She clearly has some psychiatric issues that I am sure her defence lawyer will play up to. Tamara Bedford is heading to a secure facility, but I imagine a hospital rather than a jail.”

Camille nodded in understanding, than gave him a sly smile before saying, “So, I solved the case then?”

“What?”

“I told you she did it!” She pointed out, with a little too much glee for his liking.

“To get more business, right suspect but entirely wrong motive.” He didn’t hesitate in pointing out.

“Fine then, maybe I didn’t solve it _all_ by myself. But I tell you what I did do – I got you to quit smoking.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she interrupted him with a question. “Go on then, when was the last time you had a cigarette?”

“Um…” He had to think carefully. “The day before the murder.”

“See, if I hadn’t have followed you, I bet you’d still be trying to quit,” she told him smugly.

He realised there was a distinct possibility he was pouting, “Just because I have skipped a couple of days does not mean you are responsible for me quitting. I still have half a pack to finish!”

“Do you?” She queried, wearing the same smug grin.

He reached into his overcoat pocked to pull them out and prove it to her, but they weren’t there. He looked up, frowning, to discover her standing back a little and waving the pack. His frown only deepened at the site, “You know, pickpocketing is a crime. Give those back.”

“No way!” He took a step towards her, but she just turned and threw the packet into a rather dense patch of Rhododendrons.

“And that would be littering, which is also a crime. I could just go buy another pack you know!”

“Oh, stop being so grumpy!”

Richard couldn’t quite figure out what was going on here. Was she teasing him? Was that appropriate? They barely knew each other and he was her boss, but she seemed to acting not out of cruelty but…well, something else. Unsure how to respond, he protested weakly, “I’m not grumpy!”

“Well prove it then. Why don’t you come to that meal your mother is cooking for Arthur and Juliet? Eric and I are invited, I heard the Superintendent might pop in for a drink as well.”

“Well you know, I would but, well, a lot of paper work gets generated when you arrest a double murderer Camille and somebody has got to do it. But you go ahead. Have fun, say hello from me or something.” He started to walk away backwards, trying to get out of grabbing distance in case she decided to physically drag him there. In her current mood he wouldn’t put it past her. “And you know, good work today, really excellent.”

She gave him a tolerant sort of smile, and a small wave. Richard thought he heard her give a small sigh once he had turned his back, and wondered if he was in fact being a little grumpy.

He supposed he could drop in for one drink….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t think of an equivalent of the sea urchin scene to finish this! I will write the whole of “episode 3” before I post it to prevent the issues I have had with this story.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to katedf who gave me some helpful advice.


End file.
